In the Place of Counting Darkness
by expletive deleted
Summary: Kaiba and the spirit of the Millennium Ring meet at a time when neither of them is all there. Set after volume 7.


**Notes:** Dark Bakura seems to change his intentions and motivations a couple of times during the series. One that always bothered me was that he tried to get KaibaCorp during the Duellist Kingdom arc, and then never again; odd for a guy who won't let go of things for a few millennia. This is how I make sense of that. (Although come to think of it, it could have been something to do with the Seto-Akunadin-Zork connection ... hmm.)

**Disclaimer:** _Yu-Gi-Oh!_ is copyright property of its owners and creator Kazuki Takahashi respectively. The following story was written for non-profit fun, and is in no way an intended infringement on the above-stated copyrights.

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**In the Place of Counting Darkness**

The spirit paused in its walk, tilted its head and listened ... and heard the sound again: _Click_.

What, in a realm that was a home for silence, violence and darkness, would make that innocuous noise? The spirit of the Millennium Ring rarely saw others in this place.

The spirit slanted a glance in the direction of the memories it had come to retrieve, then turned away to investigate. The memories would help it learn how to fight the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle, but he didn't need them immediately. It wouldn't do any harm to take a moment to find out what creature had entered this realm.

_Click._

The spirit found the answer quickly, and it seemed familiar.

The noise was made by a boy, sitting crouched over a golden puzzle. The boy had brown hair, and the assessing glance he sent at the spirit showed blue eyes. Something in the spirit's mind stirred, and it narrowed its eyes, trying to imagine what the boy would look like if his skin were darker, the childish roundness of his face narrowed, his clothes changed, limbs long and strong...

Familiarity refused to become memory, leaving the spirit with the dusty sensation that marked most attempts to search its millennia-old memory.

Fortunately, the little mystery could provide its own answers. The spirit crouched down in front of the boy and asked, "Did I leave you here?"

"I'm busy," the boy said.

The spirit watched as the boy selected and inspected various puzzle pieces, sometimes trying to fit some together. "I can see that," the spirit said. "What are you doing?"

The boy's methodical movements stopped cold, and then he looked up, frowning. Beneath the obvious disgruntlement the spirit saw uncertainty that threatened to well up and become fear, and it smiled.

"Answer me," it said. "You have to know what your purpose is in this place, or it wouldn't allow you to be here. This isn't a realm where little boys usually come."

The boy glowered at him, but he was trembling if you had an eye for that sort of thing - and then the uncertainty vanished. He smiled. "I'm winning."

The spirit's brows lifted in surprise and the boy held up the completed part of the puzzle, cradling it in both hands. "See, I'm almost done."

"You can't win a game you're playing against yourself," the spirit pointed out.

"_I_ can," said the boy, and returned to his puzzle.

The spirit regarded the boy for a second more, then grinned. "I didn't leave you here, after all. You're too sure of yourself to be part of me."

"I'm someone else, anyway," the boy said, inspecting the spirit from scuffed shoes to the wild crown of hair. He looked to his puzzle in a dismissive way. "No, you're definitely not me."

The spirit began to understand the mystery. "So ... you're a piece of some magician's spirit, sent by yourself to solve this problem..."

The boy said nothing, busying himself with the puzzle.

The spirit considered the boy's moment of circular logic, and of the oddness of using this place to do something that required a lot of time.

"Maybe you're crazy and putting yourself together." The spirit smiled as the boy hunched lower over the puzzle. "Yes. Those are parts of you. _That's_ what you're building." It tilted its head and saw the boy tugging his lower lip between his teeth, though he was trying hard to appear unaffected. "That's what I'm doing, too. I used to be a madman."

When the boy looked up his smile was radiant. "Did you finish? Have you stopped building?"

The spirit stilled its surprise at this unguarded reaction. "I've ONLY just started. It took some time to find this place again. This is what I stored here. A memory." He pulled one of the small ones he'd found from his jeans pocket, gripping it loosely in front of the boy's face.

The boy studied it intently, but held his poise enough not to reach out to touch it. He must be a good bit older than the child he looked like.

"I can't see anything. Not really. It's a really unclear memory," the boy said suspiciously.

"It's not yours, so why should you see it properly?" The spirit placed the memory in its ear, hiding the wince as it flooded across its mind behind a broad grin. "I have a few more to find, and then I'll know enough to do what I want to."

The boy frowned. "Why not keep the memories in your head? That's what it's for."

"There are far too many years in my head already. I don't want anything to replace the important parts, so those are here."

The boy looked around them into the inky darkness. "That a good point. Maybe I should leave some of mine here, too."

The spirit cocked its head, frustrated and confused. "Who were you, before you came here?" This little boy couldn't simply be a boy, even a mad one, if he talked with certainty about manipulating his own mind that way. He must have had power back in the world.

"I was me. That's obvious."

The spirit moulded its voice to kindness. "You are. You must have had darkness, too."

The boy shrank, his shoulders hunching and his face stubbornly down-turned. The spirit decided that he couldn't have been much older in the world than he now appeared.

"That's all that's here," it insisted. "Darkness and power. It's the only reason I'm here. I look at you, and I wonder why you want to rebuild yourself in this kind of place, little boy."

The boy slid it a look beneath the fall of his hair, blue eyes vivid in the shadows. "I'm not a kid. I know exactly what I need to do."

The spirit judged him, then decided that they had enough of a rapport to risk a more direct line of questioning. "You hope to control the darkness? A child's heart could never take the pressure. Give up, boy. Build yourself somewhere else."

The boy's fingers faltered, squeezing the pieces they held. Then he said, "I won't be beaten again." His voice was freezing. "I need this place so that won't happen - there's no other way. But I have the other things I need for this puzzle, too ... I know what they are."

"You'd be better off leaving the darkness alone anyway," the spirit coaxed.

"I'm used to it," the boy said.

There was a pharaoh to deal with - the spirit didn't need some mage to come challenge his power too, and one that seemed potentially powerful. The spirit considered killing him.

"And - anyway-" The boy was sounding more and more like a boy. His voice was shaking like any child's would if they were nearly alone in the dark. "I'm good at building stuff. Light went in at the beginning - I made sure I got enough of that this time. I got some of my old memories back too." The boy gave him a quick look, as if seeking approval.

There was light around them now. The spirit looked around in fascination, peering into the suddenly impenetrable blackness that lay beyond their circle of light.

"That's right," the boy said as he looked at the light, a reedy breath of satisfaction and relief coming out as he sat up straighter. "This time ... I'm keeping it."

"Where's it coming from?"

"None of your business." Quick, sharp, and factual, and further inquiries on that line would certainly be met with aggression.

"Really? And if I tried to make it my business? I can move out of here much easier than you, boy."

_Click._ Two pieces slotted together, and the child snatched another. _Click._

"You won't be here long..." the spirit said thoughtfully. The boy trembled with suppressed reaction. There was a lot of power in him - even if he was mostly the brat he appeared to be, it would be stupid to forget that there was more.

The spirit stood. "I was joking," it said, remembering Bakura Ryou's kindness again to use in its voice. "I just wanted to see how likely it was that you'd get out of here. You really won't be long."

The boy took a deep breath, a little shaky, but he didn't look up again. The spirit assumed that he'd outstayed his welcome, and took a step back to where it was twilight, eyes on the crown of the bent head.

Would the brat be easier or more difficult to kill once he got back to the other world? Here his mind was strong, but his body small and his neck an unguarded curve as he worked; and out there ... would he be older, stronger, sure of who he was at last? What kind of fight could he put up? Why did it seem like it could be fun to find out?

The spirit grinned one last time at the boy and stepped back into the familiar darkness. An interesting child - but there were things to do. Until the day the spirit's plan came to fruition, it would grant the boy the favour of ignoring him if it ever discovered that it had met him. But he'd remember this one. And when he won, and perhaps a power with a little light built into the darkness, with burning blue eyes tried to take him on ... the mark of something worthwhile was the blood shed on it.

He loped off on paths he half willed into existence, feeling as they halfway-willed his substance in return. Soon enough, they'd lead him back.


End file.
